Eavesdropping
by ElemenopeQReader
Summary: During the time that Lizzy is at Netherfield tending to her ill sister, Jane, she accidentally overhears Mr Darcy thinking out loud to himself. CURRENTLY ON HIATUS (PM me for more details)
1. A Little Eavesdropping

**AN:**

 **Finally! I figured out how to make some slight changes here and there, and yet our internet connection is still just a bad...**

 **Thanks for reading!**

Mr. Bingley, in all his natural friendliness and concern for any relation of his angel, had made Lizzie promise to get some rest, for she had hardly left her sister's side, and he was beginning to worry that she would grow ill as well from tiring herself out.

Unfortunately, this was not to be had. Lizzie simply could not sleep. Lord knew she had tried, but no matter how many times she rolled over, or rearranged her pillows, she could not slip into a peaceful slumber. She would be too warm, and subsequently throw off the covers, then become chilled by the drafty room, and cocoon herself under the quilts again. There was not enough of the fire still burning for it to even be called a fire, and Lizzie did not think it right to wake any of the servants to relight it.

She figured that her state of unrest came from already missing home. Though Mr. Bingley had made her more than welcome, the rest of the party had treated her with the exact opposite reaction. That such _tire_ some company could _prevent_ her from feeling tired, she thought, was very ironic indeed. Sitting up, Lizzie swung her legs over the side of the bed, and ran her fingers through her thick, brown hair. She certainly would not be sleeping tonight, so she might as well see what Netherfield's meager book collection offered.

After slipping on a robe, Lizzie made her way towards her bedroom door, and tiptoed down the hall. Quickly, but ever so quietly, she padded down the stairs, careful to skip the step that always squeaked. Once downstairs, there was less of a need to be quiet, as everyone was sleeping upstairs. Nevertheless, she was cautious. Lizzie wrapped her fingers around the handle to the library door, and slowly creaked it open. She stepped over the threshold and eased the door shut behind her. The room smelled of leather, parchment paper, and the remaining embers of a fire. A smile graced Lizzie's face. It almost reminded her of home. The books, though few, made her feel like she belonged, contrary to the scathing remarks from Miss Bingley and the condescending looks from Mr. Darcy. Here, she could forget about the burdens of life for a time and busy herself within the world of literature.

Using the withering firelight to see, she found a collection of Shakespeare's works. Lizzie pulled _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ from its place on the shelf, but as she did so, she noticed something dark green on the other side. She removed _The Taming of the Shrew_ to see a little better, and almost dropped the book out of surprise. There, in the armchair by the hearth, wearing a dark green waistcoat, was a sleeping Mr. Darcy.

From the angle at which she saw him, Lizzie could tell that he was not slumbering peacefully. His hands tightly gripped the arms of the chair, and he was murmuring something unintelligible. The orange glow from the fireplace reflected off beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. The pine-colored waistcoat was unbuttoned, and had she not been afraid of waking him, Lizzie might have laughed at the usually fastidious Mr. Darcy's disheveled appearance. She thought it wiser that she should leave instead, but never got the chance to even stand, for it was then that the dragon roused. All in the same moment, his eyelids flew open, he sat bolt upright in the chair, and he gasped her name.

"Elizabeth!"

For a moment, Lizzie was afraid he must have seen her, but the feeling soon vanished when she noticed that he was staring, wide-eyed into space. He was panting quick and shallow breaths and looked even more panic-stricken than before. _He must have had a nightmare!_ Lizzie thought. _But what was_ I _doing in it? Perhaps he knows of another Elizabeth?_

He must have realized that he was safe in the reality of the library, for he slumped back into the seat, and, though his breath was still labored, appeared to be more relaxed. Lizzie was about to make her presence known to Mr. Darcy when he spoke out-loud to himself.

"How will I ever get her out of my head if she's there even in my dreams?"

Lizzie was astounded. Could he possibly mean herself? She clung onto the idea that there was someone else that he was acquainted with, but it was shocking all the same to hear that he was enamored by someone of the fairer sex at all. _Mr. Darcy, who never looks at a woman but to see a blemish_ , as her father would say. He stood and began pacing, with his eyebrows furrowed together and a frown on his face – not so different from his usual brooding mien, she noted.

"She is absolutely unsuitable," he continued. "And yet..." He paused and stared into the flames with an absent-minded look on his face. Lizzie was yet again shocked to see the depth of emotion displayed on his features. He looked torn between joy and pain.

"… She is everything I have been searching for, but never found. Words simply cannot describe her."

He released a huge sigh. He spoke his next words slowly, and in an almost wistful way, as though he were in great pain.

"I can do nothing about Miss Elizabeth Bennet though, except watch her from afar."

Lizzie stifled a gasp. Any astonishment she had felt before was completely eclipsed by what she felt now. What had he just said? Had she heard right? Was he in his right mind? She could and would have sworn that he saw nothing but fault with her; that the few times he had bothered to gaze upon her were to critique her many imperfections! Why then did it seem that he held a _tendre_ for her?

He turned and leaned his head against the wall with a loud _thump_ and began running his fingers through his mussed hair.

"I have not fallen in love with her." He choked out. "I will not let myself." His voice was barely a whisper as he pulled at his already undone cravat, his forehead still pressing the wall. Lizzie had to strain her ears to hear him.

"If only she were not so bloody bewitching."

A small eternity passed by, until he left the library and headed upstairs to his chambers. When she felt it was safe, Lizzie quickly escaped back to her own rooms, were she would be free to meditate on what she had just learned.


	2. Confusion, Frustration, and Excitement

**AN:**

 **Hello, my patient (or if you're like me, not so patient) readers!**

 **A certain person (you know who you are) pointed out several typos in the last chapter. I think I fixed them. I can't really update that often because our house is, unfortunately, the black hole of internet connection, my room being the center, so I hope that y'all will spare some grace.**

 **Thanks to everyone, including those I couldn't reply to:-)**

 **~LMNOPQR**

Netherfield, too early to truly be morning

Lizzy closed the door to her temporary room and crawled back into bed. She knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep, but unlike earlier that night, she didn't mind. Instead, she wanted to sort through her facts and emotions.

Lizzy had many questions, so she decided that she would try to answer as many of them as she could, the first being 'what just happened?' Well, Mr. Darcy had had a dream about herself, been scared into consciousness, and then confessed, or rather implied, that he held a tendre for her and was struggling to overcome it. That being done, she moved on to decipher the next problem.

Had he been in his right mind? Her first thought had been that Mr. Darcy was drunk, but now she was not so sure. He had spoken clearly (albeit hoarsely), walked confidently, and she had seen neither glass nor decanter in the library. The man had not struck her as the type to indulge anyways. Therefore, he must have been in sober, which made his musings even more astonishing.

The most confusing question though, was 'why?' It seemed awfully vague to Lizzy, but she couldn't find any other way to put it. According to said man, she was 'everything he had been searching for, but never found'. She was not so sure what that was supposed to mean. He had also said something about her being 'bewitching', only more... explicitly.

That meant that he was _attracted_ to her, the very same woman he had described as 'tolerable'? _That does not quite add up,_ she thought. _But perhaps his opinion has changed? No, for if it had, surely, he would have said something._ However, _that_ could not be true, since he was apparently attempting to suppress any feelings for her.

Lizzy punched her pillow. She was going in circles! Rolling over onto her back, squashed pillow still in hand, she decided to wait until tomorrow when she could make some more observations. Forming any conclusions now would be hasty.

Netherfield, still too early

Fitzwilliam Darcy was frustrated. Frustrated with Miss Bingley's tiresome comments, frustrated that he had let Charles convince him to come to Hertfordshire, frustrated that he couldn't get back to sleep after dozing off in the library, and frustrated with himself for being attracted to Miss Elizabeth.

Why was it that, when he was around her, he acted abnormally for his behavior? What was it about her that fascinated him so much? He had meant it as a rhetorical question, but he knew the answer: her eyes. That, and her beautiful, rich laugh. The image of her at the Meryton assembly, conversing with one of the Lucas ladies appeared in his head.

 _Darcy watched as Miss Elizabeth approached Miss Lucas, on the opposite side of the room. She made some comment, but he could not hear it. He probably wouldn't have anyways, for his attention was focused on the amazing ease that she possessed in speaking with someone, and the glimmer of mirth in her eyes. Miss Lucas replied, and Elizabeth - Miss Elizabeth - tilted her head back and erupted into laughter._

 _Darcy was certain that if birds could laugh, they would have sounded like Miss Elizabeth. Her delicate shoulders shook slightly, and he noticed that a few of her brown curls had fallen out of place. It was just then that she looked at him. Her mouth took a more mischievous twist and one of her eyebrows arched heavenward. Yes, heavenward, for surely, she was an angel from the sky._

 _Perhaps she was not just tolerable after all._

She had ingrained the memory into his head. She was all he could think about, and the only woman who had affected him in such a way. She was intelligent, and caring, and sharp-witted, and most of all, enchanting.

 _But I have not fallen in love with her. I will not let myself,_ Darcy reminded himself. He had lost track of how many times he had repeated those exact words in the past week.

Netherfield, finally morning

Charles Bingley walked up the stairs to the second floor of his house. He was going to speak to the housekeeper and confirm that Miss Bennet was being taken diligent care of. After all, she was sick, and he was quite worried on her behalf.

 _Where is Mrs. Adams?_ He wondered, peeking around the corner of the hall. The kind, old woman was obviously not on the first floor, so he headed down the hallway upstairs. As he did so, he passed a slightly open door. Stopping in his tracks, he reached out to shut it, but froze when he heard the distinct sound of voices on the other side. It was Miss Bennet and her sister.

"...just what a young man ought to be... lively... happy manners..." He almost jumped. Was she speaking of him, or some other suitor?

"...handsome... character is thereby complete." That would be Miss Elizabeth.

"...flattered... asking me to dance a second time..." They were most assuredly discussing him! No one else had danced twice with Miss Bennet. The sisters soon spoke of different things – something about Mrs. Bennet and riding a horse. The footsteps of a servant jerked Bingley back to his senses. He quietly slipped away, heart racing, missing housekeeper forgotten.

 **AN:**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was more of a filler, and a short one at that, but still fun to write after a long day. (my older brother graduated high-school Yaay!) Hope y'all are having a good weekend!**

 **~LMNOPQR**


	3. Observations

****AN:****

 **Okay, so I quote the original P &P in this a lot, but I hope y'all don't mind. It's just that our dear Jane Austen could put it better than I can.**

 **We pick up a little before when Bingley overheard the sisters in the last chapter.**

* * *

Lizzy poked her head around the door to her sister's room.

"Jane?"

"Yes, Lizzy?"

"Good, you're awake." She stepped inside. "I asked for our breakfast to be brought up here." Her sister's only answer was a weak smile.

"Are you feeling any better?'

"A little."

"Mr Bingley has sent for Mr Jones."

"He didn't have to do that."

"But he did, and I suppose it's only natural for him to be concerned about the well-being of others. He is very generous." _Unlike his sisters_ , she added mentally.

"Yes, he is just what a young man ought to be," Jane paused before continuing. "sensible, good humored, lively; and such happy manners can only serve to make him more agreeable." She stared distractedly at the ceiling, the corners of her mouth upturned ever so slightly.

"He is also handsome," replied Lizzy, "which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete."

"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time at the Meryton assembly. I did not expect such a compliment." Lizzy smirked at the slight change of subject.

"Mama was quite in raptures."

"Yes, and she was ecstatic about my coming to Netherfield, too."

"I am dearly sorry that she would not let you have the carriage," Lizzy said, turning a little more serious.

"You need not apologize. Papa did say that the horses were needed."

"But what could someone possibly need the horses for in all this rain?" She questioned, gesturing toward the gray skies out the window.

Sweet, unassuming Jane was saved from excusing any and all parties concerned as a maid entered with their meal. The sisters broke their fast in silence, the one picking at her food without an appetite, and the other resuming her contemplation of last night's happenings.

...

Darcy hopped off of his horse and handed the reins to the stable boy. He had gone riding nearly every morning of his stay at Netherfield, partly out of habit, but mostly as an attempt to rid thoughts of _her_ from his mind. Something in the back of his head pointed out that it didn't seem to be working, but he ignored it; the amount of time she occupied his thoughts he would never own up to. It was somewhat frightening, the strange new emotions he was feeling. He had never been so bewitched by any woman. _But I will not think about her, or her laugh, or her enchanting eyes that sparkle when she – NO! What is wrong with you Darcy? Get some sense!_ He made a sort of frustrated growling noise as he stepped back inside.

After finding himself strategically seated next to a simpering hostess, he decided that luck was not in his favor today. This did not help to brighten his mood. Darcy attempted to block out the sounds of Miss Bingley's voice, unsuccessfully. Finishing his morning meal as quickly as possible would be his only way out, for she was not a particularly fast eater.

Just as he was about to excuse himself, Mrs. Bennet and her two youngest daughters were announced. _Could my day possibly get any worse?_ He moaned inwardly. The woman had come to check on her ill daughter, and after she had completed her perusal, she joined the others on the main floor. _How does Bingley do it?_ He pondered, watching the man easily converse with Mrs. Bennet.

"Indeed I have, Sir," was her answer to whether she had found Miss Bennet any worse than she had expected. "She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness."

"Removed!" cried Bingley. "It must not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal."

"You may depend upon it, Madam," said Miss Bingley, with cold civility, "that Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us."

Darcy cringed as Mrs. Bennet rattled on in her profuse acknowledgements.

"I am sure," she added, "if it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with."

 _And yet she is somehow related to the likes of you._

"I often tell my other girls they are nothing to _her_." Darcy's eyes turned to Miss Elizabeth of their own accord to see her already dark blush deepen. Though he would not wish for her to suffer, he thought her shade was a very becoming color.

The remainder of the visit carried on in a similar fashion. Mrs. Bennet would prattle on about this, or that with Bingley politely listening, his sisters not bothering to hide the sneers on their faces; the two youngest girls (for they could not possibly be any older than Georgiana) giggled to themselves, and Miss Elizabeth's mortification only seemed to grow along with her crimson tint.

Hold – something in her manner _besides_ her embarrassment, was different. Darcy couldn't place his finger on what it was, but she seemed more... reserved? Observant? Perhaps it was simply exhaustion from caring for her sister?

Mrs. Bennet soon departed, but not after thoroughly humiliating her second daughter, of course. Miss Lydia and the other sister, whose name escaped him at the moment, followed after their mother in a tittering trail. Miss Elizabeth returned instantly to Miss Bennet, leaving her own and her relations' conduct to the remarks of the two ladies; Darcy, however, could not be prevailed on to join in their censure of _her_ , in spite of all Miss Bingley's witticisms on _fine_ _eyes_.

...

The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Lizzy joined their party in the drawing-room. The loo table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter, and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.

Lizzy managed to mostly ignore her surroundings, her attention seemingly captured by page two and thirty of the book on her lap, only glancing up a few times to observe Mr. Darcy. She couldn't have possibly realized that in doing so, her eyes narrowed, nor that her lower jaw stuck out ever so slightly, nor that Mr. Darcy was aware of her scrutiny. In fact, he was watching her just as much.

...

An argument often causes at least one party to rethink their position. This was the case with Darcy.

He, Bingley, and Miss Elizabeth had been engaged in a lively debate, and he could not be more unsure as to whether he was thankful or disappointed that it had ended. It had been so... stimulating. Yet again, Miss Bennet was forcing his mind to think, and yet again, his thoughts were tending towards herself.

What was it that Bingley had said? That he did not know a more aweful object than he? What was _that_ supposed to mean?! Was he really so terrible? Darcy had to admit that he was a reserved person – his cousin Richard would tease him and say he was shy even – but he wasn't _aweful_. Was he? He knew that his staff practically worshiped him, his sister adored him, and most of his relatives and the people he had grown up with were at the very least fond of him. Did those who did not know him so well misjudge him? Did his brooding mien come across as disdainful and proud? Did the people of Hertfordshire view him as such?

That wasn't his fault though! The people here were so _vulgar_. There was a pregnant pause before Darcy realized the weight of that comment. For crying out loud, he sounded just like his aunt, Lady Catherine.

 _I will conquer this pride_ , he decided firmly.

...

It took all of Lizzy's self-control, and then some, to refrain from giggling like a little girl. She was certain Mr. Darcy had already finished his letter, but he was still sitting at the desk and was making the _oddest_ facial expressions. One moment he looked confused and shocked, then angry and frustrated, and then, to top it all off, he let out a long, exasperated sigh and drug one hand down his face. It was like watching a comedy!

Lizzy turned her face away to hide the barely suppressed smile on her face.

The man obviously thought that by remaining at the desk no one could see him. Or perhaps he was not aware of the range of emotions currently being displayed on his face. _It could very well be a combination of the two_ , Lizzy concluded.

Miss Bingley and Lizzy were soon applied to for the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the piano-forte and seated herself, but not after a polite request that the other would lead the way. Lizzy politely and more earnestly negatived, for she did not think it would be wise for her to play when she was already having enough trouble composing herself.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed, Lizzy could not help but observing as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. It was evident to her that his distraction had something to do with wat he had said the night before, and she tried not to look anywhere in his general direction.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near to Lizzy, said to her –

"Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

 _What had he just said? He wanted to_ dance _with her?_ If this had nothing in common with her recent discoveries, she knew not what did. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.

"Oh!" said she, "I heard you before; but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply." she paused briefly. Of course _he_ clearly wanted her to answer in the affirmative. He would not have asked her otherwise. Lizzy's mouth twitched as the mischievous imp inside of her took control. She could have a little fun with this.

"You wanted me, I know, to say 'Yes', that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all – and now despise me if you dare."

She looked him strait in the eye as she said all this.

"Indeed I do not dare."

Part of Lizzy was triumphant that she had found more proof of the sincerity of his words that night, but the larger part of her was amazed at his gallantry.

However, she could not have known that there was such a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront any body; and Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Hope y'all enjoyed this!**


	4. If the Book is Upside-Down

**AN:**

 **Sorry for the long wait! Summer camp is finally over and now I back! FYI, Not a Cursed Child is now my beta.**

 **Thank y'all again for reading my humble little story!**

When the Ladies removed after dinner, Lizzy ran up to her sister, and seeing her well-guarded from cold, attended her into the drawing-room; where she was welcomed by her two friends with many professions of pleasure. Lizzy was pleasantly surprised. _I have never seen them so agreeable,_ thought she.

But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object. Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned towards Mr. Darcy, and she had something to say to him before he had advanced many steps.

 _Well, that was short lived._

He addressed himself directly to Jane, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he was 'very glad;' but Bingley's salutation more than made up for their lack of warmth. He was full of joy and attention. The first half hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room, and she removed at his desire to the other side of the fire place, that she might be farther from the door. He then sat down by her and scarcely spoke to anyone else. Lizzy was delighted. All of Jane's past beaus had never been this… genuine. She had simply been a pretty face, and it was only the grace of God that no shady characters had taken an interest in her. _It is good that she has finally found someone who cares for her._

Upon hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Jane, Miss Bingley turned suddenly towards him and said,

"By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party, for there are some among us who would not find much pleasure in it."

"If you mean Darcy," cried Bingley, "he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins – but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing."

Mr. Darcy then surprised them all by saying, "On the contrary, I am rather looking forward to it."

There was an awkward moment where only the sounds of Mr. Hurst snoring could be heard.

Miss Bingley, however, prided herself in her excellence at filling silences, therefore the duty fell to her.

She went on to complain about what she did not like about balls and what she would prefer – all, of course, based on her misconstrued ideas of Mr. Darcy's likes and dislikes. When her one-sided conversations failed to gain her any more attention, she got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, but the man whom it was all aimed at, remained focused on his book. She was desperate.

"Miss Eliza, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in on attitude."

"As if you would know better than me about walking." She muttered under her breath as she stood.

Miss Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility: Mr. Darcy looked up. Unfortunately for her and her carefully planned future, he was ignoring her presence and staring only at Lizzy.

"Would you care to join us?" Miss Bingley asked, growing more jealous by the second.

"I think not, for I can imagine but two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, with either of which motives my joining you would interfere."

"What can you mean? I am dying to know! Pray tell, Eliza, can you understand him at all?"

"Not at all," was her answer; "but depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him, will be to ask nothing about it."

Yes, Lizzy was most certainly her father's daughter.

Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation of his two motives.

"You either choose this method of passing the evening," he replied. "because you are in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss,"

Lizzy nearly scoffed.

"Or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking. If the first, I should be completely in your way; and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."

He was looking chiefly at Lizzy, and had she known him better, she would have realized he was smiling; but as it was, she could only guess.

"Oh! Shocking!" cried Miss Bingley, who was inwardly screaming. "I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?"

"Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination," said Lizzy, eyebrows arched and smile not absent. "We can all plague and punish on another. Tease him – laugh at him."

"Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind? No, no – that will not do. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself."

She bestowed him with a clearly practiced smile; which he missed entirely, for he was focused on another object.

"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!" cried Lizzy. "That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss to _me_ to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh."

 _And it would seem as though you have been deprived of such a pleasure, Mr. Darcy,_ she thought, suddenly feeling very sorry for him.

"The wisest and the best of men," said he, "nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke."

"Certainly, there are such people," replied Lizzy, thinking of her youngest sisters, "but I hope I am not one of _them_. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can." Then she added as bait for the fish, "But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without."

Miss Bingley opened her mouth to agree, then thought better of it.

"I do not believe that that is possible for anyone. However, it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule."

"Such as vanity and pride."

"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. Pride," he paused. Lizzy stared curiously back at him. _That look is very similar to the one he had in the library,_ she mused. _Very far away._ "Is also a failing."

Lizzy smiled. If what Mr. Darcy had just said had been a confession of sorts, then she had uncovered a great clue to the mystery that he was.

"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume," said Miss Bingley; "and pray, what is the result?"

"I am now perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy is, in fact, as human as the rest of us."

Miss Bingley made a confused face but tried to cover it with a smile, which resulted in her looking as though someone were standing on her foot, refusing to remove themselves.

"And why would I not be?" was his reply.

"Well, sir, you have admitted that you are imperfect, and it is only human to be flawed."

She prayed that he would not notice that she had not answered his question.

"I have faults enough. My temper I dare not vouch for. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. I would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever."

" _That_ is a failing indeed!" cried Lizzy. "To not be able to so easily forgive _is_ a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well – I really cannot _laugh_ at it. You are safe from me."

"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil; a natural defect."

"And _your_ defect is a propensity to hate everybody."

"And yours," he replied with what she was now certain was a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."

"Do let us have a little music," cried Miss Bingley. "Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst."

Her sister made not the smallest objection, and the piano-forte was opened.

Lizzy, however, paid no attention to anything else for the remainder of the evening, for she was lost in her thoughts.

Could Mr. Darcy be correct? Did she willfully misunderstand people? She was almost certain that he was mostly alluding to her judgement of him. Was he saying she was wrong? – That he was not the man she thought he was? He was, by far, the most confusing person she had ever met. How could he blame her if she was incorrect about his character? But she was not incorrect, was she? Lizzy sighed and looked up at the ceiling. _This will have to change,_ she thought. _I cannot continue to misjudge people._

She had always been confident that she could read people like poetry and enjoy the art just as much; but how could one read the book if the pages were upside-down?

 **AN:**

 **Okay, so I know this chapter was probably a little disappointing, but the next one should be more satisfying. I have high hopes…**

 **Thanks again!**

 **Oh, and please don't forget to review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated…**


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